


Hogwarts' Favourite Tom Thumb

by DashFnanz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Epic Bromance, Epic Friendship, Friendship, Gay Harry Potter, Harry Needs a Hug, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Insecure Harry, Insecurity, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23614285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DashFnanz/pseuds/DashFnanz
Summary: Something's bothering her best friend, but she'll get him to open up. She's Hermione Granger, and if anyone can fix him, it's her.Alternately, the story of how Harry Potter is still an insecure little boy inside, just like all of us.Post-war, Eighth year setting, humor and friendship. Hermione and Harry have an epic friendship, and no one can convince me otherwise.Read & Review!
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	Hogwarts' Favourite Tom Thumb

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, Dash here. I have decided to cross-post my works to this site, because AO3 has a special place in my heart and I know that I'm not the only one with this sentiment. This fic is originally posted on fanfiction.net under the same pen name.
> 
> Disclaimer: J.K Rowling is a goddess and I can never compare. So, she keeps the characters, the places and her own created world, while I borrow them all every now and then like the pathetic human I am. The plot is all mine though!
> 
> Warnings: mild insecurity, references to gay sex.
> 
> Happy reading!

She walked up the stairs to the boys' dorm, the raucous laughter of the Eighth Year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs lounging around the fireplace merely an echo in her mind. The thick books in her hands were starting to get heavy, but she ignored the weight.

Hermione Granger had had eight years to get used to carting around impossibly heavy, increasingly growing stacks of books, and a few bulky ones were hardly going to get the best of her. It was a wonder she didn't develop bigger biceps than half the boys in her year, with all the lugging around she did.

Right now though, her laser-focused mind was directed at one task and one task only - getting her lazy yet adorable assignment partner to get his head out of his arse and contribute to the already lengthy project she had put together so far.

One of the greatest advantages to having her best friend as her go-to partner for projects like these, was having an established, tried and tested routine.

The two of them had spent years working on their general dynamic, and after working through many kinks over time, they worked out a system for the specifics too.

Strange mystery with no answers? She supplies the information; he pieces it together. Crazy bad guy out for their blood? She takes defense; he takes offense. Creepy stalkers galore? She plays bad cop; he plays good cop.

Working together on a fourteen feet essay on the Transmutation of different species for Transfiguration task-mistress Professor Thatchet? She researches enough to fill two fat Muggle notebooks; he brutally cuts it down to something remotely resembling an acceptable length.

After a brief dramatic spell and the obligatory whining, of course.

Finally, after a long, long trip up to the uppermost level of the much too tall tower, she reached the Gryffindor floor. She had no idea why all the Gryffindor boys barring her best friend had collectively voted for the highest dorms in the tower, but clearly, they weren't thinking.

Pausing to catch her breath, she glared at the winding staircase she had climbed up. The view, she thought irritably, is _not_ worth the exercise.

Feeling much better after her little rest, she turned right and she moved to make her way to his room. About ten steps away from her destination, the doorknob twisted sharply, the heavy wooden door swinging open with a creak. Neville Longbottom exited the room juggling an old tome in one hand and a large bag of what looked to be colour-changing rainbow hued seeds in the other.

Sensing her presence, Neville turned towards her swiftly. On recognizing her, his stance relaxed and he gave her a lopsided smile.

"Hey, Hermione," he said in his deep voice. "Looking for Harry?"

"Yes, I am," she replied. "I'm told that he's in his room."

"Quite right," he affirmed. There was a hint of worry in his voice, and his forehead crinkled in a light frown.

"Something's up with him," he stated in a whisper. "He seems to be in a mood. I was just going to look for you."

She frowned in concern. _What could be the problem?_

"I'll look into it," she assured him. "You should go on. Thanks, Nev."

"No problem," he replied with a relieved smile. "See you, Hermione."

She smiled at his broad back as he brushed past her. Neville was a special person to her, and she was glad to see him grow into himself. It took long years, some moments almost painful to watch, but watching him stroll around with that easy gait and confident smile was a satisfying reward.

In the end, it wasn't her numerous pep talks, but hard times and a promise of death, which brought him out of his shell.

Her smile fell as she turned back to the door. Consulting her mental checklist, she concluded that the problem couldn't be anything she was possibly aware of. _He was fine two hours ago. Something more recent, most likely._

She pushed open the door further and walked in. She nudged the door close. Zeroing on to her best friend immediately, she made her way to him.

Harry Potter laid on his side on the narrow bed, facing the far wall and hugging himself. He looked the picture of misery. Her frown deepened.

Setting the heavy books down on the bed beside him, she nudged her left knee against his back and left it there.

"Will you tell me what's wrong or am I going to have to force it out of you?"

Harry sighed deeply and turned so that he laid on his back. Heaving another sigh, he said, "Why are you always around wherever I'm in a bad mood? For once, give me a few more minutes to wallow in my misery."

Hermione gave him a flat look. "Because if you are left to yourself when you're like this, it spells disaster for the rest of the world."

Harry grimaced.

"Besides," she continued, "I actually came up to get you to pull your weight on Professor Thatcher's assignment. But clearly, that isn't happening any time soon."

Harry groaned. "Sod Thatcher," he said grumpily. "That woman needs to learn to give us a break."

"Professor Thatcher, Harry," Hermione corrected. "Stop stalling now. The sooner we deal with what's bothering you, the sooner we can work on the project. It's due in a week!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You and your work ethic," he said fondly.

Hermione glared warningly.

"Alright, alright," he said reluctantly. His bright green eyes were noticeably dimmed, giving away his pretence of nonchalance.

Harry was extremely good at deception when he felt like it, which usually happened when he was really hurt. He could fool anybody with that act of his - but no one knew him quite like she did.

Hernione's glare softened. Nudging him with her knee, she said, "Come on, H, why don't we take a walk around the grounds for a while and you can tell me all about it."

Harry sat up with a jerk and his eyes widened. "Out there? Into the bright sunshine and the spring breeze? Oh Mione, the light! It will take one look at my misery and kill me dead. Dead!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ever since he found out about both his parents' penchant for melodrama from his late godfather, Sirius Black, and his favourite adult, Remus Lupin's stories, Harry made it a point to exercise his own dramatic flair from time to time, usually at the most inopportune moments.

However, luminous as they were in the dark, curtained room, his emerald green eyes lacked the mischievous sparkle they always possessed when he was in a playful mood.

Sensing his need for keeping the light atmosphere a little while longer, Hermione tried to play along.

"Chin up, drama queen," she said jokingly, bumping his shoulder lightly. "Let the sunshine do it's magic. Maybe it'll burn out all the grump in you."

Harry gave her a grouchy look. "What do you have against me, woman?" he pouted.

Hermione levelled him with a steady glare. Contrary to popular belief, patience was not one of her strong suits.

"Are you coming, or will I have to drag you outside?"

"Coming, chief!"

Hermione just shook her head resignedly.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It was completely silent outside. The chirping of the birds and the lazy rustles of the trees along the edges of the Hogwarts grounds sounded soothing in the bright light. The fresh scents of spring - of blooming flowers and springy grass - filled the air with its fragrance.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend today. Hogsmeade weekends made no difference to the Eighth Years, since they were given permission to visit the village whenever they wanted, as long as they were back by curfew. The eighteen year olds unanimously decided to take advantage of the empty castle - after all, this phenomenon occurred for only two days every month.

The grounds were completely devoid of life, apart from the handful of Eighth Year Ravenclaws studying in the shade of the tree nearby. Lisa Turpin looked up from her book as they passed by, and she gave them a serene smile. Hermione nodded back mildly.

They passed by the greenhouses, and waved at Neville, working hard among the Puffapods in Greenhouse Three. He wiped an arm across his sweaty forehead, and gave them a happy grin in response.

They gravitated to the Quidditch pitch through instinct. Harry, because the boy would have lived on the pitch if he could, and Hermione, because she knew it would do him good.

As they strolled along, Hermione let her thoughts wander. Her eyes roved her surroundings for a minute or two, before settling on Harry.

The bright afternoon light shone through his wild jet black hair, giving it hints of warm brown. His eyes reflected the sun, deep green turning to emerald. His tanned skin glowed gold. Flashes of pale palms caught the eye he swung his hands about. Harry had unusually pale palms for someone with his bronzed skin tone. His lithe frame was accentuated by his light gray, long sleeved henley and the fitted dark wash jeans.

In short, he looked good.

Gone was the scrawny, ratty look he sported all through his earlier years at Hogwarts. His eyes no longer had that perpetually hunted look. They no longer looked too large, too big for his face.

The hearty Hogwarts food had finally put more skin on his bones, enough to make his Quidditch toned muscles more visible. His lithe frame suited him - 'emaciated skeleton' wasn't a good look on anybody, and he certainly couldn't pull it off.

Ever since he had grown it out, his wild hair looked less like a tangled mess sprouting out of his head. With his hair down a little past his shoulders, he looked like he had just rolled out of his bed - or had just had the best shag of his life.

He was still noticeably short, a mere five foot four - officially shorter than all the boys and two third the girls from sixth year and up. She knew this for a fact - she looked into it herself after the sixth time he angsted over it. She herself was two inches taller than him. It was pretty awkward before to look down at her best friend when they used to be the same height, but they had learned to adjust.

She herself, she knew, was unrecognizable from her previous self, and yet, completely the same. It wasn't just the teeth correction in fourth year, or the newly straightened, glossy brown hair, but also a brand new confidence in herself and her abilities that was never present before. She wasn't just a brain, and she finally knew it.

Her skin was healthier too, less pallid and pasty. Ever since their forced camping trip spanning the entirety of what would have been their seventh year, she made it a point to stay less cooped up indoors. Living in the woods had taught her a lot of lessons, and she could finally admit to the calming beauty of nature.

She had finally grown into her large-ish ears - something she was grateful for, because ever since it had lost its bushy-ness, her hair hid nothing. She wasn't used to the feel of the wind actually _moving_ through her hair.

It had taken what felt like forever, but they had finally come into themselves.

Ever since Ron Weasley, one third of the Golden Trio, had distanced himself from them post-war, they had only each other to rely on. His absence wasn't as hard on them as it could have been - they had long since gotten used to functioning without him, and the time he had left them in the woods for all those months further cemented their independence from him. But that didn't stop it from _hurting_.

He still spoke to Harry a few times - each conversation awkward and draining. He still treated her as his girlfriend - just his girlfriend, period. It was like those long years of friendship had never existed. He acted like Harry wasn't his best friend for seven years; like she was just another girl to him, one that he took out ever so often. She knew that every person dealt with trauma differently, but, Merlin, this was beyond ridiculous.

It was painful for both of them to work through. He was Harry's first friend, Hermione's first love. He was slipping away from them, from her, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Atleast they still had the other Weasleys. George was still a mess, nearly a year after Fred's death, but thanks to Harry, he wasn't half as bad as the shell of a man he was before. Harry, as a partner in Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, primary financial contributor, and mischievous Marauder-spawned human disaster, had forcibly offered George assistance with running the joke shop. With her impressive research skills, Hermione had found herself helping them more often than not. Remus Lupin too, provided frequent and insightful suggestions every now and then.

The three of them had surprised themselves with the realization that they were George's support system, but they rolled along with it. Remus, particularly, took it admirably and relished the task of mentoring George Weasley. The two men got on like a house on fire, and together the duo made an odd but heartwarming pair.

Ginny Weasley was the same as ever, and she treated both Harry and Hermione just as she always did. Of course, the fact that she no longer harboured a crush on Harry helped. Every Weasley barring Ron made it a point to keep in close touch with both of them, something that touched her more than she would admit to herself.

They had had a good summer, for what it could have been. Harry had moved into Hermione's childhood home in Sheffield for the summer. Both of them sinking into depression - Hermione having to face the fact that her parents were gone forever, Harry drowning in the pain of his flashbacks. Funerals and trials every day, spiralling down into a mess of hatred, guilt and frustration. They had stayed together for a week or so, barely holding on to their sanity.

It took a week for Harry to convince Remus to stay with them, a week of pleading, pouting and heavy guilt tripping before the man agreed. Remus had his own demons to face, and even with Andromeda around, he was in no position to raise his little son Teddy by himself. The loss of Tonks had hit both of them hard.

Andromeda was at the stage where she blamed Remus for everything that had happened, even though she logically knew that it wasn't his fault. Harry couldn't bear thinking of his honorary godfather suffering more guilt than the load he heaped on himself everyday, and Hermione had suggested that he and Teddy should live with them.

It was Teddy who brought them around. Taking care of a baby was no joke, and having something to take their minds off everything was exactly what they needed. The healing process was slow and painful, but they helped each other through it all.

They spent the entire summer in a whirlwind of pizza, shopping and watching every movie they could get their hands on. It was odd to finally act like the teenagers they were, but the stress relief was liberating. They spent the later months of the holidays helping in the Hogwarts renovations, till it opened at the start of November.

The past summer had been the hardest time of their lives, and yet, the best time they had ever had.

Surfacing from her memories, she glanced over at Harry again to check if he had noticed her lost in thought. He had a quiet little smile on his face, seemingly unknowing of its existence. Realizing that he was just as lost in his own memories, she looked back ahead with a smile of her own.

They would be okay.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

They were on their second stroll around the Quidditch pitch, and neither of them had said a word yet. True to her prediction, the fresh air and bright sun had done Harry wonders.

He seemed to get more relaxed with every minute, focusing more and more on his surroundings. She knew the exact minute the fragrance of the fresh grass cut through his thoughts - his body lost the lingering traces of tension, and he walked with a grace that he so glaringly lacked away from the pitch.

Hermione smiled to herself. You could take the boy out of Quidditch, but you couldn't take Quidditch out of the boy.

Hermione finally caught his eye, giving him a significant look.

He sighed, resigned to the knowledge that she wouldn't let him go until she was satisfied.

"Feeling better?" she asked softly.

"Much," he replied with a fond look. "You always know how to make me feel better."

"It's a gift," she stated with a wink. "Want to tell me what happened?"

"Ugh," he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face sheepishly. "I don't even know why I got so worked up over it. It feels kinda silly now."

"It wasn't all that silly two hours ago," she told him. "I know what it means when you darken the room like that. If your cupboard was big enough, H, I'd have found you curled up in it."

Harry sighed. "I know," he said simply.

She gave him a while to gather his thoughts.

Three, two, one…

"You know those three Hufflepuff seventh years with the giggling addiction?"

"You know I do. I've always said that their combined I.Q. would still be lower than a troll's."

"Yeah, those," he huffed with a laugh. "I overheard them talking as they were leaving for Hogsmeade."

"And?"

"They were talking about me. About how 'dateable' I am."

Hermione gave him a look. "H, you don't even like girls."

"I know, Mione! But these girls were talking so loudly, I couldn't help but overhear. And they were going on and on about how 'adorable' I am, and one of them said that I was 'too pretty for her taste' and another commented on how I'm shorter than all of them and how no girl would want to date me even for my money or fame because I'd embarrass them with my height and they were all saying how a pretty boy like me must like to take it up the arse and -"

"Breathe, Harry," Hermione intervened, putting a calming hand on his shoulder. "It's all right."

Her eyes tightened almost unnoticeably. Oh how she would hex those foul, vapid little cockroaches…

Harry gave her a panicked look. "Alright?" he screeched. "Nothing is alright! They figured out my orientation by how _short_ I am! Mione, don't you see? I'm a walking gay stereotype!"

 _Huh_ , thought Hermione, blinking in shock. _That was new_.

She could hear Harry continuing his rant, limbs waving around in true Harry fashion.

"And, and one of them said that I looked girlish, that I could pass for one if I just grew out my hair and popped a couple breasts. _Girlish!_ I look horrible as a girl, you know that, Granger! Remember the time we nearly got caught by those Snatchers and I pretended to be a girl? They almost didn't buy it! And they were stupider than Dudley! I'm too girlish to be a boy, and I'm too ugly to be a girl. Not only am I a living stereotype, but I'm a _freak_! Again!"

At the last line, Harry threw his hands up, nearly smacking himself in the face.

Hermione sighed and, taking hold of his thin wrists in each hand, brought them down again.

She stared down into his swirling green eyes, and bit out, "First of all. You. Are. Not. A. Freak. Get that through your thick brain, Harry Potter. I never want to hear you say it again. We've been through this before."

Her eyes softened, and she let go of his hands.

"Maybe you are a stereotype. So what? It's not a bad one! Everyone's a stereotype really."

"I know! It's just so, so -" Harry made grabbing motions with his hands, visibly trying to find the right word. "It's so contradictory! One minute it's all 'all hail Harry Potter, Saviour of the wizarding world, our favourite hero!' and then it's 'oh, he's such a delicate little thing, I don't think he's even a girl - ten galleons he's gay and a bottom!' Ugh, honestly, make up your minds! Which one do you want me to be!"

Hermione tried her best, but she couldn't hold in her laughter. Harry's monologue was just so dramatic and spot-on.

Harry gave her his best glare.

Hermione ceased instantly.

 _Not bad_ , she thought, shocked at herself. _He's learning._

"Harry," she started, still trying to catch her breath. "You don't have to be who they want you to be. They don't control who you are. _You_ control who you are."

"I don't even _know_ who I am!" he countered angrily. Harry's shoulders slumped, and he kicked at a stone as they walked along. "This is stupid. I've already _had_ my big gay crisis. I've been to gay clubs. I've _done_ stuff. I know what I like. I shouldn't be ashamed because I like to bottom, right?" At this, he looked at her pleadingly.

"No, Harry," she agreed, amused. "You shouldn't be ashamed of that. You should be proud that you can admit it, really."

"Yeah, I should," Harry breathed, revelling in his admission. He turned to her. "And now that I don't have to play hero all the time, I'm free to be the stereotypical twink I am!"

"Hold it! That's the second time you've mentioned this. Why can't you be both at the same time? They're both _you_."

"Mione, haven't you read anything about people who look like me? They don't do the saving, they're the ones who need saving. They're never the heroes! And if I am a stereotype, I might as well play it properly. Else I'd just be a frea- you know what, again."

Hermione face-palmed. She could never understand him when he was this bizarre. At times like these, she wondered if Voldemort had secretly driven her friend crazy.

"Firstly, you needn't hide something of yourself to pretend to be a perfect stereotype. That's not how it works. The whole point of being one is that you just naturally fit into the mold. Secondly, who said that 'twinks' cannot be heroes? It's a stereotype too. A sub-stereotype, if you will."

Harry looked at her, a little amused. He obviously thought that she was trying to placate him.

"That's not true, Mione."

"Oh, it is!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Oh yeah? Where'd you hear that, Mione?"

"In at least seventy percent of the gay novels I read over the summer. So there!"

Harry's challenging look turned confused. The smug smile wiped itself off her face when she realized what she had revealed.

"Wait, what?"

She sighed. No use trying to hide it now.

"Remember all those times I visited the library down the street and borrowed all those books and wouldn't show them to you?"

"Yeeaah?"

"Um, they were gay novels?"

"Novels, really?"

"Oh, fine. Erotica. Technically, they were gay erotica."

And really, the confused frown on his face looked adorable, and she would spend more time committing it to memory to tease him about later if it wasn't for the extreme embarrassment falling off her in waves.

"Mione? Why were you going through gay erotica?"

"I was trying to help you? When I realized that you might be gay, I tried to read up on it as much as I could."

"Ohhkay? Why did you hide them, then?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Because I liked it and didn't want you to know?"

Harry stared at her for long seconds, just blinking. Finally, he threw his head back and let out a high, choked giggle. He grew louder and louder until he was hunched over his stomach, letting out full belly laughs.

Hermione just stared. She didn't see what was so funny.

Minutes later, he tapered off, tears still streaming down his face. "Look at us," he said. "Hogwart's very own Tom Thumb and his best friend the straight, gay fetish queen. Right pair we are!"

Hermione slapped his shoulder, hard, snorting in laughter. "Shut up!" she exclaimed. "When you read them, you'll understand."

"Oh, I think I will," Harry replied, waggling his eyebrows.

Hermione shook her head resignedly. Her best friend, uncowed by the Dark Lord Voldemort, nearly brought to tears by three teenaged girls discussing how short he was.

She chuckled to herself. _Irony, thy name is Harry Potter._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

They left the pitch and walked through the Hogwarts gardens, still laughing from time to time. After a while, Hermione asked him softly, "It's not about the stereotypes, is it? You've never really cared about those before. It's about the height."

Harry sighed, "You know me too well, Mione. No, I don't think it's about the stereotypes. It's been my height all along, hasn't it? I've been bullied about it since I was a kid. I guess, I just hoped that when I got older, it would stop affecting me so much. Clearly, I was wrong."

"We'll work on it," she stated. "The problem is not the problem. It is your attitude to the problem. Do you understand?"

"Not at all."

"Don't worry, you will." she laughed. "You don't have to try so hard to fit in, H. You're too good for that."

He smiled sadly. "I don't want to fit in, I just don't want to stand out."

She nodded in empathy.

"They were right." he said. "No one will really want me, just because of my height. I've played the hero too long for anyone to see beyond it."

"That's not true," she countered. "Anyone who's taken the time to know you, has already seen beyond it. Besides," she added with a wink, "you make a very cute 'twink', Harry. And it's not just me saying it. I've done my research."

"Oh, really?" he asked playfully. "And who were your test subjects, then?"

"Draco Malfoy, for one," she stated with a smug smirk. "Oh yes, his reactions are very interesting to observe. Especially when you walk around in those special jeans we bought you from Levi's."

"Really?" he asked with a squeak.

She chuckled. "You can thank me anytime for pushing you to befriend him. It may have not turned out exactly as I hoped, but the results are _definitely_ satisfying."

Harry grinned back happily. "You're a goddess, Mione."

"You'd better believe it," she retorted with a smile.

Harry steered them back towards the castle.

"Well," he said. "The conflict is resolved, and everyone's happy. Think we should still follow tradition?"

Hermione nodded.

"Pizza!" they exclaimed as one.

"I'll roll the dough!" yelled Harry.

"I'll cut the toppings!" she yelled back. "We're so lucky the elves love us, H. They would have slaughtered us for using their kitchen so often!"

Harry laughed and nodded in agreement. "Race you to the kitchens!"

"You're on!"

They ran and ran, until Harry, the clumsy wizard that he was, tripped over a rock and sprawled to the ground. Hermione, still laughing at him, tripped on the stone nearby and fell sideways over him.

They made it to the castle eventually, and threw together the best homemade pizza yet. They sat at one of the long tables in the kitchens, arguing over whether pineapple belongs on pizza or not, the elves crowding around them, happy as can be.

She was right. They really would be okay.


End file.
